Monday July 5, 2004
This morning to Spilsby to restock the necessaries cupboard and fridge shelves. I wasn’t too keen today, didn’t feel like being jostled in the market-day crowd, so I determined to do no more than drop in to the Co-op, avoiding the crush altogether.
On the way there, driving on a nearly empty road, I had a brainwave. Why not take pictures of the prettier bits as I go? Action followed thought, I grabbed the pencam, and started clicking away merrily. Altogether I took about 30 photographs, only three of which were complete duds and several of which were really successful. I’d expected more signs of movement but it was a bright, sunny day, making for high-end shutter speeds. A very successful venture, and one I shall try again. I love the open road, even in the car if things are quiet, and these are scenes I’m unlikely ever to be able to photograph any other way.
In the evening, Graham decided to come out with me for a joint bike ride. That was fun, though I had to live with a deal of protectiveness as we bowled along. My speed is considerably less than his, so he was pootling along at my side, not getting the degree of exercise he’s used to. When we got to my turn-round point, he shot off down one of the roads I’ve yet to travel, leaving me to the silence of the fens. A lark sang, first I’ve heard in years. In the drain, hidden by foliage, ducks clacked a quacky, xylophonic tune. I sat on the verge for a little, drinking it all in, in large greedy gulps, like a fine, dewy wine, so full of vigour it almost fizzes.
If there’s anything more joyful than a lark singing of a sunny evening, backed by a wild-duck chorus off-stage I’m not sure I could take it without bursting.
And then, a dot in the distance appeared, grew larger and assumed a Graham shape.
“Was that good?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. You’ll enjoy going along there to the bridge. Only a mile, perhaps a bit less.”
“In a few day’s time. I’ll be ready for another mile shortly.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I do believe you will.”